Poetry - Waiting

Waiting for inspiration to come

Come, come, come

Sitting on creativity’s egg

Clucking at myself

For errant behaviour

I morph into a useless capon

Back at the blank page

White glare blinds me

With a Richter 7.4 migraine

In hushed hushes

I become a clot in my own brain

Procrastinating with pen in hand

Tsk, tsk, tsk

Deferring to my own self-importance

A scribe changing history

Clanging symbols

And crashing drum

I exit in twisted triumph